Author: John Chappell
When I left the dentist’s office the other day, something that seemed out of place caught my eye as I reached for the door handle of my car. I froze in stark terror just in time to avoid stepping on it. On regaining my composure, I stepped back and ordered it to depart. Mocking my authority, the snake calmly took refuge under the car.
I got the attention of a masked employee, and asked for a stick or something to prod the beast from its new lair. He returned with my dentist in tow and a broom in hand. Numerous attempts to convince it to leave only succeeded in drawing a crowd of human onlookers. Various suggestions proved futile until the dental assistant, on hands and knees peering under the car, announced, “He’s gone!”
Inasmuch as the car was surrounded by people, the obvious question was circulated: “Did you see it come out?” The answers were unanimous: “Nope!” Nevertheless, it was definitely not on the pavement beneath the car. There was but one conclusion. “He’s gone up in the engine compartment.”
So, I popped the bonnet (hood, for Yanks). The way they cram the machinery in there these days, one could only marvel at the agility that would have been required to take refuge there. No amount of peering yielded any evidence of reptilian habitation. I wasn’t about to stick my hand in there to feel around for it; nor was anyone else so inclined. I started the engine, hoping the heat and vibration would persuade the beast to vacate. Awaiting such development while seated behind the wheel gave my mind time to ponder the chances it could find a channel into the passenger compartment. The thought of it dropping onto my lap was unnerving. I admit it. Meanwhile, the crowd anxiously peered into the engine compartment and below the car. No snake. A new question circulated. “It couldn’t have got by us, could it?” The unanimous answer was, “No way!”
I mustered courage, dropped the bonnet, and proceeded to drive back and forth in the parking lot. The crowd cheered. “Donuts! Donuts!” a couple of the younger ones entreatied. No snake or anything else dropped from beneath the car. I parked, shut off the engine, and raised the hood again.
My brain was now working out numerous scenarios as to how I would be able to park in the garage at home with certainty that the beast had not ridden home with me. The onlookers offered suggestions and consolations. Suddenly, I saw a very strange thing. A snake was slowly but surely slithering out through the wheel spokes on the right front. “Look!” I exclaimed. And we all did. We were mesmerized. Having departed, it proceeded toward the sidewalk. The spell was broken. Whereupon, I proceeded to berate myself for missing the photo of the year.
You just have to imagine it, first poking its head out through the spokes to assay the territory, then slithering inch by inch, oh so smoothly, out through the wheel and onto the pavement, then weaving in that way they do, toward the camouflage of leaves. It seemed in no hurry. One person tried to pick it up, and learned how quickly they can strike after lulling an onlooker into a false sense of calm. We believe it was a non-venomous rat snake.
Can’t believe spring started a week ago (oh, I know, not officially) and now it’s that damnable Daylight Saving Time. Where did that name come from, anyway? They can’t save daylight. You get the same amount of daylight in a day no matter what time you set on your clock. The crazy thing is the grass has turned green and started growing, the mornings are noisy with chirping birds, and they must be finding bugs to eat so I won’t be surprised if the mosquitoes are swarming any moment now. I suppose there could be a surprise snowstorm in the works and, if it actually happens, I would be quite surprised. This just feels too much like winter is history. Hey! Here’s a selfie from one of our walks last week. Sorry, kinda cut most of Becky out.
I’ve seen these hundreds, nay, thousands of times on websites, but only recently did the truly ominous implication strike me so bluntly. It’s like the ultimate personal surrender, the terminal consignment of self, the final relinquishment of free will. You either SUBMIT or you don’t, there are no options, there’s no in-between. There’s often small print at the bottom that says something similar to this one. As is well known, understood, and expected, nobody clicks off to some other page to read whatever it is before they SUBMIT. Maybe you should think about it. I’m going to. Even so, there’s still no guarantee that what one is about to SUBMIT to will have anything to do with one’s expectations. Just remember, once you SUBMIT, THAT’S IT. Have you ever seen an UN-SUBMIT button afterwards? I didn’t think so.